Whispers in the Night
by squirrelgirl295
Summary: What happens when Scabior takes Hermione for himself...


Whispers in the Night

She ran as hard as she could, but he was faster. He caught up to her quickly, grabbed her wrist and then wrapping his arms tightly around her when she had stopped.

"I've got you now, beautiful," Scabior whispered in her ear. Hermione shivered as he stroked her cheek, her mouth downturned and her lips quivering. "And I'll never let you go."

"Accio wand!" she screamed out, trying wandless magic, but she had never quite mastered it in her years at Hogwarts.

"Nice try, pretty girl. Mmm, too bad you'll just… have to stay… with me," Scabior murmured, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. He picked up her wand from where it had fallen when he grabbed her, and slipped it into the pocket of his black jacket.

"Harry! Ron! GO!" she cried, as Ron and Harry were tackled to the ground. They exchanged a worried look, but dutifully twisted on the spot and disapparated.

"Follow them! Go on, you imbeciles, snatch them!" Scabior yelled as his fellow snatchers stood there dumbly. Drawing his wand angrily, Scabior sent hot sparks at them until they too disapparated.

"Now we're all alone, pretty girl. Penelope Clearwater, huh? Is that your name, or is it just a lie?"

"Hermione Granger," she muttered, averting her eyes from his icy blue gaze. _Why did I just tell him that?_ Hermione silently berated herself. _He's a creep. A sexy, gorgeous creep…_ _No! _She rolled her eyes at her own ridiculous thoughts.

"Pretty name for a pretty girl," Scabior murmured, stroking her cheek. She blushed under his touch, and he smiled.

"There's nowhere for you to go now. And if there was, would you run?" he whispered, each word bringing his face closer to hers, until he traced his icy lips down the bridge of her nose.

"Yes. I would… run." She whispered back, and Scabior felt her shiver under his touch. He leaned in and grazed his icy lips against her warm ones.

"Mmm. I don't think you would," he sighed, pressing his lips more firmly against hers.

"Please… don't…" Hermione protested as Scabior backed her against a tree, pressing their bodies together, but her heart wasn't in it as she weakly protested.

Scabior pressed his lips to Hermione's, running the very tip of his tongue along her bottom lip and twining his fingers in her thick hair. She gasped and grabbed the back of his head, pressing him to her. He broke away for a moment, and seeing the sudden light in Hermione's eyes, began kissing her again with renewed energy. She stroked his cheek before wrapping her arms around him. He grabbed her calf and hitched up her leg to wrap around his hips. She inhaled sharply, and he took the second of her preoccupation to trail a line of kisses across her jaw and down her throat. She gasped again as he reached the neckline of her shirt, and arched her back under his touch.

"You are delicious," he moaned, as he kissed his way along the neckline of her shirt.

"Mmm… no… don't…we can't…" Hermione groaned as Scabior ran his hands under the bottom hem of her shirt. She shivered deliciously as his fingers touched her bare skin.

"Why can't we? We're all alone now…" Scabior murmured. Hermione almost lost her train of thought as he slowly traced one cool finger up her stomach, under her shirt.

"I don't know you… and you're… a Snatcher… and Ron…. Harry… they need me…" she trailed off as Scabior's lips reconnected with hers.

"They'll be fine… without you… and you know me now… and not all snatchers are bad…" he told her between kisses.

Hermione smiled under his lips. "That's all true… but I want to know you better." With that she plunged her hands under his shirt, tracing the contours of his chest with cold fingers.

His lips met hers again with new abandon, and then they were both gasping as they sank together to the forest floor.

Hermione woke disoriented. She could see two shades of dark hair twined together on the leaves, hers and… she gasped as she remembered what had happened. Sure enough, her cheek was resting on the warm chest of non other than Scabior, who was still fast asleep. She lifted her head and looked around. They were lying on a carpet of leaves in the middle of a forest clearing. Neither was wearing a shred of clothing. Hermione blushed as she realized this, but put aside her modesty.

"Hey, good morning," she murmured kissing Scabior's lips to wake him up.

"Hey, gorgeous," he replied, opening his eyes sleepily and resting his hand in her hair.

"Should we…" she trailed off, feeling extremely shy of their nakedness in the bright light of day.

"Hmmm?" he said, rolling on top of her and grabbing her hips.

"Not quite what I had in mind, but –" she trailed off as their lips met, and all thoughts of getting dressed and making breakfast were lost.

A few hours later, the two of them were a little more presentable. Hermione had set up the tent from her little beaded bag, and they had a fire going. Hermione sat on Scabior's lap as she heated water for tea.

"Tell me about yourself. Why are you a snatcher?" Hermione said, her arms wrapped around Scabior. "And why did you rape me last night?" she added, in a teasing tone.

"Rape!" Scabior cried, pretending to be astonished. "Hardly. I just gave you a little push in the right direction. As to why I'm a snatcher… well, my mum isn't well off. My dad died last time the dark lord came to power, and so it's up to me to make ends meet. I hoped that if I was a snatcher, I might find someone really valuable and make a load of gold, and then everything would be better… maybe if I found someone like your friend Potter, hmmm?" he said, grinning lopsidedly.

"You are a very bad man," Hermione whispered twining her hands into his dark hair, stroking the streak of bright red that defined it.

"And you are a very naughty girl," Scabior chuckled, kissing her warm lips. "I think your tea is boiling, love."

"And what if it is? I'm warm enough already," Hermione chuckled, feeling the muscles of his powerful shoulders.

"Mmm, I don't know, I think I could do with a little warming up myself," Scabior said, running his fingers through her bushy hair. She leaned into him, melting against his warm chest. Just then, a resounding crack echoed through the woods, and Ron and Harry apparated into the clearing. Luckily, Hermione had cast her usual charms around their campsite that morning after they had gotten up, luckily, Ron and Harry hadn't thought to return the previous night, or they would have been shocked out of their minds by the scene. As it were, Harry and Ron couldn't hear or see Hermione and Scabior.

"Hermione! Are you here? Hermione!" Ron called. When there was no response, he began muttering furiously under his breath. "Foul git. I bet he took her and… and… those bloody Snatchers!" he said, cursing loudly.

"I daresay he's jealous, love," Scabior smirked, hugging Hermione tightly to his chest. "Poor Ginger. He'll never get his little minx back now."

"Hush. Be nice. After all, they are my friends. I'm going to go talk to them," she said, sliding off his lap and straightening her jacket.

"_Videre!" _Hermione said, brandishing her wand. A shining pane of silver mist hung in the air before her, showing her reflection. Her lips were swollen from kissing, and her eyes were bright and shiny. Her hair was much bushier than usual, and there were bits of leaves and twigs stuck in it. Hermione ran her fingers through it, but seeing the hopelessness of the situation, pointed her wand at her bushy mane and murmured, "_Scourgify!" _ Her hair immediately compressed down into neat waves, and the bits of leave litter fluttered to the ground.

"Now you look a little too neat, love, not at all like you've been violated by a big bad snatcher," Scabior chuckled. He grabbed her wandless arm and pulled her towards him, as if reeling in a fishing line. He ran his fingers through her hair, fluffing it up and tousling it a bit. "Mmm, much better," he said, his lips quirking up into a grin.

"Thanks," Hermione said sarcastically. She stood up and walked to the edge of their encampment before silently exiting the magical boundaries. She tried to put a tragic-but-strong expression on her face as she ran towards Ron and Harry.

"Hermione! Oh, you're alive and okay! Right? You're okay? Did the Snatcher… did he hurt you?" Ron stammered, his ears turning red.

"He… he didn't hurt me… but… he's sleeping now and if he hears you, he'll kill me," Hermione whispered, putting on her most tragic expression.

"He's still here?" Harry whispered angrily. "That… that…" he couldn't seem to think of a word horrible enough to express his opinion of Scabior.

"Please, don't. He's not all bad, he's not like the Death Eaters, and he just needs to make some money for his mother."

"That's just like you, Hermione. Defending the man who's keeping you captive and doing… who-knows-what with you. He's evil, and… come on, Hermione, come with us," Ron pleaded.

'I can't! He's sleeping now, but if he sees that I'm gone, he'll track me down… he knows my scent, he can find me," Hermione said, tears filling her eyes. "He'll kill me when he finds me. And then he'll kill you too. Please, do it for me… I'll convince him to let me go. In time, he'll understand. Just please go, before he wakes up!" She pleaded, grasping Ron's and Harry's hands.

"If you don't come to us in one month, we're coming back here, whether the evil Snatcher will kill us or not. We're coming back for you, okay?" Harry whispered intensely, fixing her with his green eyes. Hermione's stomach twisted with guilt at deceiving her friends, but she had found something special with Scabior, and she would pursue it as she had often pursued elusive information between the shelves of the library.

"Go! Go!" she cried, waving them away, pretending to have heard a noise in the woods. Shooting her one last panicked look, Harry and Ron disapparated with a _crack._

Hermione waited a moment to make sure they didn't come back, and then reentered the magically protected area of the camp site. Scabior was waiting where she had left him, sitting cross-legged on the ground by their fire.

"What an actress," he said, reaching for her, but Hermione sat down next to him instead of in his lap as he was suggesting. "That was very brave of you, love, sending them away. Ginger there barely let you go," Scabior murmured, putting his arm around her. Hermione put her head on his shoulder and leaned into his embrace.

"This is so strange for me. Harry and Ron and I have been together since we were eleven. Except for over the summer, we've never willingly spent time apart. For me to choose to leave them… even if they don't know that it's my choice… it's just strange," Hermione murmured, absentmindedly twining a strand of Scabior's hair around her finger.

"Come on, love. Let's have breakfast. Ginger and the Chosen One will be fine. If you'd like, you can check in on them from time to time. Just don't let them know you're there, or I'll never get you back." Scabior kept his arms around her as they went about transfiguring some mushrooms into a delicious meal, as though afraid she would disappear if he wasn't holding her. As they ate, she periodically felt his lips brush her hair, and she shivered at the sensation.

Later that night, Scabior sat up suddenly. His arms were wrapped around Hermione's hips, and her arm was slung across his chest. Her hair fluttered as she breathed, tickling his chest. He wondered what had awoken him, and then he realized as Hermione spoke.

"Scabior…" she murmured, clearly still asleep. "I love… Scabior…" She rolled over, nestling into his side and sighing softly. Scabior's heart leapt. He reached down and stroked her cheek, to see if she was actually awake. Hermione jumped a little at his touch, but her eyes didn't open and she went on breathing deeply and regularly.

Scabior had never had a woman say that about him, awake or asleep. A new sensation seemed to be brimming in his chest as he looked at Hermione, pressed up against him in the cool night. He knew that he would never be able to leave her, this curious little witch who seemed to love him so freely.

Scabior slowly sank back down into the pile of blankets and rugs on the floor of the tent. Hermione wrapped her arms more firmly around Scabior's chest, her body molded to the contours of his. He drifted off with one hand stroking her hair and the other wrapped around her, holding her tightly to him.

In the following few weeks, Hermione and Scabior's love blossomed. They would spend their nights warm in one another's arms, and their days were spent talking of the past and the future, their dreams and fears. Scabior, despite his rough demeanor and heart-of-iron attitude, turned out to be no meaner than a bunny rabbit.

"Honestly, Hermione, I used to be the fearless snatcher, and now I'm your lapdog. Really, I am!" Scabior exclaimed one day as they returned from the nearest village with their groceries.

"Is that so? I think it's the other way… I think I'm _your _lapdog," Hermione cooed, knocking Scabior to the ground and climbing into the lap. "I certainly spend more time in your lap than you do in mine."

"We could remedy that, if you'd like," Scabior chuckled, flipping her over and pressing her down into the grass, tracing across her collarbone with his icy nose. Hermione shrieked and threw a handful of fallen leaves in his hair. He chuckled and pulled her back on top of him, retaliating with a handful of leaves of his own. She giggled and together they rolled around on the forest floor, trying to stuff leaves down each other's shirts. At last they stopped, their limbs tangled together and their cheeks flushed.

"Come on, Scabby," Hermione giggled, pulling him to his feet.

"As you wish, _Hermy,_" Scabior replied, tweaking her nose. "I'm going to get you for that. Scabby, indeed. You'd better watch-" he was cut off suddenly as Hermione clapped her hand over his mouth.

A man was standing there, not fifty feet from where they had been fooling around. He was leaning against a tree, watching the two of them with a smirk. As soon as Hermione quieted Scabior, she realized that it was futile. The man had obviously been watching for some time.

"Scabior. The mudblood, really? You couldn't get your booty quota with real witches, instead of filthy little whores like her?" the man sneered, jerking his thumb at Hermione.

"You – how dare you, Gilligan? You nasty little – you horrible - " Scabior could clearly not come up with the words to describe the depth of the Death Eater's treachery in insulting Hermione. Instead, he drew his wand.

"_Crucio!" _Scabior shouted, and Gilligan dropped as though his legs had turned to fluid. He kicked uncontrollably, screaming in a constant, terrible keening noise.

"Stop it! Oh, stop it, now!" Hermione cried, grabbing at Scabior's wand arm. He shot her an incredulous look, but lifted the spell.

"He called you a… a…" Scabior clearly didn't want to repeat the word. Hermione's eyes were filled with tears.

"_Obliviate,_" she murmured, pointing a shaking wand at the Death Eater lying prone on the ground. He glowed blue for a moment, and then slumped into unconsciousness. Hermione turned on her heel and stalked away. Scabior caught up with her in a few long strides, grabbing her arm.

"Hermione, I thought… he called you… I couldn't let him get away with calling you…" Scabior stammered, confused by her reaction.

"It was just a name! But you… you _tortured _him," Hermione exclaimed, her voice breaking and tears seeping out of her eyes.

"Hermione. You don't know him. He would have killed you. No, he would have raped you and tortured you and humiliated you, and then, if you were lucky, he might have killed you. What I did to him was… not even a quarter of what he deserved," Scabior said, looking deep into Hermione's eyes, trying to convey the honesty of what he was saying.

Hermione shrugged out of his grip, wiping her streaming eyes on the back of her hand.

"It's not your job to punish him. He might have done terrible things, but it isn't your purpose in life to dole out judgment and pain. There are many walking on earth today who have done terrible things and are not punished, and there are many who have done nothing wrong and who lie dead or bleeding without cause. It is not up to you help or hurt them," Hermione said passionately.

Scabior stood speechless for a moment, before grabbing Hermione roughly by the shoulders and kissing her, his mouth moving violently against hers. She drew back her hand and slapped him. Scabior stepped back, shocked.

"Hermione! I was trying to defend you! I didn't want him to get away with calling you names like that," Scabior protested, looking worriedly at the fiery look in Hermione's eyes.

"Next time, let me do the defending," Hermione hissed, snatching her beaded bag up and disapparating with a _crack._

Scabior stared blankly at the spot where she had disappeared, not believing his eyes. But Hermione was definitely gone, and she wasn't coming back anytime soon.

"Hermione!" Scabior shouted, making a flock of birds take flight in alarm. "Hermione!" He sank to his knees in the leaves, his head pounding and his hands trembling. "I did it for YOU! I cursed him for YOU!" Roaring in anger, he whipped out his wand and sent a column of fire roaring at the nearest tree. It burst into flame, and he felt the searing heat with relish. It felt nearly as hot as the flames that were burning in his heart.

Hermione reappeared on a snowy hillside in southern Norway. Tears were already streaming from her eyes, and she sat down heavily in a snow bank, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth.

"Why did you have to do it, Scabior? Why?" she moaned, clutching her head in her hands. "We were happy…" Drawing out her wand, Hermione whispered, "_Invenio!" _A cloud of pale orange mist spilled out of the end of her wand, and she pictured Ron and Harry in her mind. She hoped they weren't currently protected by any spells, for if they were, her charm would not work. Thankfully, Harry and Ron appeared presently in the mist. They were walking through a small town, one that Hermione recognized clearly as Ottery St. Catchpole, the small village near the Burrow. Hermione let the vision dissipate, and, gathering up her beaded bag, disapparated.

Harry and Ron both spun around and whipped out their wands as Hermione appeared with a pop on the street next to them.

"Hermione! You're – are you alright? He let you go? Did you just escape?" Ron asked, running up and grabbing her up in a big hug. Harry was close behind him, and gave her a quick hug before disengaging to question her.

"The Snatcher – how did you escape? We were going to come after you next week if you didn't show up, but now… oh, Hermione, I'm so glad you're okay!"

"He let me go. I'm fine. He's really not so bad," Hermione said, trying not to let her voice tremble. She tried to look relieved, but it came out as more of a grimace. Ron grabbed her into another hug, and she patted his back awkwardly. She missed the powerful arms of Scabior, his long hair and his intense eyes. But no, she would save those thoughts for later, when she would be alone and could let her tears escape.

The trio, reunited, spent the rest of the evening settling into their new campsite. Ron told Hermione proudly how he had charmed a Muggle camping tent with an Undetectable Extension Charm, so it now resembled a quite spacious living space inside. Hermione praised him for it, but she truly wanted to be alone. That night, after her tears had dried and she had drifted off into a restless sleep, Hermione dreamt of Scabior. She saw him being punished by Voldemort. He was crying out for her, screaming her name and reaching for her, but as she ran to him, Harry and Ron stepped menacingly in her way.

"Hermione, what do you want with the snatcher? He's filthy… vile… he tortured a man before your eyes…" and as he looked on, Scabior's face melted, his nose flattening and his eyes turning into red slits, until he was Voldemort himself.

"Hello, beautiful," he whispered, beckoning her to him with one long, pale finger.

Hermione awoke sweating and trembling. She clutched her blankets to her tightly and stared into the darkness, Scabior's face still glowing before her eyes.

Far away, in a forest in northern England, Scabior sat up in bed. He couldn't remember what his dream had been about, only that it had featured Hermione and she had been screaming for him, screaming in pain.

He wiped his hand across his forehead and tried to slow his pounding heart. Hermione had left him. She couldn't love him, if she had done that. Unbidden thoughts came whirling through his mind, and he wondered if somewhere, Hermione was thinking of him too. He remembered her elusive floral scent. He had smelt it first in the forest, when she had been protected inside her magical encampment. He had immediately recognized it when his gang of Snatchers had caught Hermione and her friends, and while she had been with him, it had been his drug. He felt happy when he smelled it; it was linked in his mind with Hermione and the wonderful time when they had been together without a care. Scabior lay back onto his camp bed, trying to banish his dream from before his eyes. Was it possible that she could still care for him? He didn't think he could live without her. Scabior slowly fell back asleep, wishing that Hermione was there, snuggled up against him.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione travelled the countryside. They acquired the rest of the Horcruxes and systematically destroyed them. They fought long and hard against Lord Voldemort, and many friends were lost. They mourned for Lupin and Tonks, and Fred Weasley was one of the hardest losses to bear. After the solemn funeral at the Burrow, Harry and Hermione returned to 12 Grimmauld Place for the remainder of the summer. Ron joined them in August, and then they packed their trunks and returned to Hogwarts for their seventh and final year at Hogwarts. Hermione had insisted on returning to school, and Harry was looking forward to sharing his classes with Ginny, who had caught up to their year in the time that the three had been hunting for the Horcruxes. Ron hadn't particularly wanted to go back, but he couldn't think of anything better to do with his time, and he didn't want to stay at the Burrow, where the grief of Fred's death was still too fresh.

On September 8th, Harry, Ron, and Hermione hauled their trunks to Platform 9 ¾ and boarded the Hogwarts Express. Conversation was sparse in their compartment. Ginny, Neville, and Luna joined them. Ginny and Harry sat holding hands, Luna jabbered away about the new leads on the whereabouts of crumple-horned snorkacks, and Neville made conversation with Ron about their plans for the future. Hermione exchanged a few minutes of conversation with the rest of the group, but spent most of the train ride thinking about Scabior.

_ Where is he now? _She wondered. _I wonder if he ever thinks of me. I wonder if he ever misses me._ Hardly a day had gone by since she left Scabior that she didn't think of him. Even when she tried not to think about him all day, he was always featured in her dreams. He haunted her day and night. She would be picking up groceries in Diagon Alley, and she would catch sight of a man with long, dark hair and a leather jacket, and her heart would throb and pound. She once caught sight of a swath of dark fabric streaked with crimson, and Scabior's tousled hair leapt to her mind. She gazed out the window, watching the familiar countryside rushing past. Ron and Harry noticed her preoccupation, but didn't comment. Her expression had become familiar to them over the past months, as had the sound of her crying quietly in the night. Being Hermione, however, they figured that she would tell them if it was something she needed to share.

Hermione's heart lifted as the spires and glittering lights of Hogwarts castle came into view. The Black Lake glimmered under the crescent moon, and the inkiness of the Forbidden Forest in the distance looked like a painting. As the thestral-drawn carriages pulled them towards the castle, Hermione wondered if she would ever see Scabior again.

Hermione clapped as loudly as everyone else during the Sorting, but she picked at her plate of food, and only sipped at her pumpkin juice.

"Hey, 'Ermione, you gonna eat that?" Ron asked through a mouthful of food, pointing at her barely-touched helping of risotto. She rolled her eyes but pushed it towards him.

"Ron, if you eat all that, you won't fit into your dress-robes," Ginny teased him.

"Wehw, dat dushunt matter, dush it? Im nosh gonna be wearin' my dresh robes anytime shoon," Ron mumbled around a mouthful of treacle tart.

"Oh yes you are!" Ginny exclaimed. "Hogwarts is hosting a Start-of-Term Ball in two weeks, and we're inviting Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Honestly, weren't you listening to _anything_ Professor McGonagal said?"

"No. I wush finking 'bout food."

"Of course you were," Ginny said, rolling her eyes as Ron continued to eat.

Hermione rested her chin on her hands and gazed up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. Dark storm clouds whirled across the sky, and rain poured down to earth. She found herself hoping that Scabior had somewhere warm and dry to stay. She wondered, as she so often did, if he was thinking about her.

The first few weeks of the term passed, and Hermione got back into the rhythm of schoolwork. The constant load of work from all her NEWT classes kept her mind off of Scabior during the day, and she was usually so exhausted at the end of the day that she fell asleep before she could dwell on the smell of his skin and the way his fingers felt when they tangled in her hair. She dreamt about him nearly every night, however. She always awoke feeling even more tired than the previous night, with a desperate sort of need that consumed her.

The weeks slipped by, and before she knew it, it was the night of the start-of-term ball. At Ginny's insistence, Hermione did her hair nicely and wore her favorite dress, but she wasn't into the party. While her fellow Gryffindor girls gushed over the flowing French of the Beauxbatons boys and the powerful muscles of the Durmstrang men, Hermione couldn't see anything special about them. Sure, they were foreign, but when compared to the dark mystery of Scabior's eyes, his strong hands, his fiery touch… they could not compare. Hermione danced with a few boys when they asked her, but most of the time she sat on a bench near the wall, sipping a flute of chilled pumpkin juice and staring out the windows. Harry and Ginny were slow-dancing out on the dance floor, Ron was talking to a Ravenclaw girl by the refreshment table, and Luna and Neville could be spotted twirling together at the edge of the crowd. Hermione felt utterly and miserably alone.

She waited around until the party had begun to disperse at around one o'clock. She didn't want to stay at the ball, but she knew it would only be worse if she was alone in her room. Once back up in Gryffindor tower, she kicked off her shoes, pulled off her dress and threw on an old nightgown and clambered into bed. Soon Ginny's breathing had slowed to a regular pace, and the quiet snores of the other girls filled the chamber. Hermione, however, was nowhere near sleep.

She lay on her back, her hands under her head, staring at the crimson canopy. She tried to think about anything but Scabior, but she simply couldn't concentrate on the proper formula for a Draught of Strong Fingernails. Time passed slowly, but Hermione was only aware of the movement of the movement of the moon outside of her window. She gazed up at it, wondering where he was at that moment. Was he too looking up at the moon? Could he be thinking of her too?

Suddenly, she sat up straight in her bed, throwing her covers off. She wasn't sure what it was, but she felt as though someone were whispering her name. She thought it was him… but she would not trust in her hope. Without stopping to think about what she was doing, she shoved her feet into the pair of slippers by her bed. She slipped quietly out of her dormitory, moving softly through the common room and through the portrait hole. Before she knew it, Hermione was standing before the huge arched doors that lead out to the grounds. She stopped for a moment, wondering how she could possibly get though them, but then she placed her hand on them and they swung open silently at her touch. Hermione didn't stop to wonder at this anomaly, but continued out into the moonlit grounds, past the lake and Hagrid's cabin, and into the shadows at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

He saw her coming long before she could see him. Her white nightgown billowed around her ankles, and her hair formed a messy halo around her pale face. She seemed to glide across the lawn, her eyes dark in her face and her hands trembling. She looked so fragile that he barely stopped himself from running to her and embracing her, but perhaps she didn't want him. Perhaps the hopelessly empty feeling he had endured for the past few months was only present for him, perhaps she had a new man in her life. But no, that thought was too painful. He returned his gaze to Hermione's slender figure approaching him through the darkness.

Her scent reached him before she did. It was far better than he had remembered the weak imitation his memories had conjured up paled next to the delicate fragrance of her skin and hair. She inhaled deeply, and she looked up sharply, seeing him for the first time. Her pace quickened, and then she stopped, only ten feet from where he stood.

Hermione couldn't believe her eyes. There he stood, leaning against a tree, his eyes as full of mystery and dark passion as when she had first seen him. His eyes searched her face hungrily, and she knew that she was doing the same to him. She shivered suddenly. Her heart pounded in her chest; she was sure he could hear it thundering from where he stood. She felt as though she would collapse if she didn't feel his arms around her, put she put a steadying hand on a nearby tree trunk and forced herself to wait. Perhaps he hadn't come back for her.

"Hermione. I… I needed to know whether you could … if maybe… if perhaps you… could still care for me?" Scabior murmured, breaking the long silence. He hardly dared to look at her, and already he was steeled for the sharp blow of her rejection.

Hermione gazed hungrily at his downturned eyes, as the full realization of what he had said hit her. She crossed the distance between them in a few long strides, roughly lifting his chin with her hand and looking him in the eyes.

"I will always, _always_ want you. No matter how far apart we are, no matter what errands you ran for Voldemort in the past. You are Scabior. _My Scabior._"

His eyes met hers and he could see the truth of what she said. He saw her pain in the way her hands trembled, in the way her toes clenched in the dewy grass. He tentatively reached a hand up and stroked her cheek, and was surprised to find it was wet. A tear trembled on her eyelashes, and he leaned forward to kiss it away. Hermione's knees buckled as his lips touched her skin. This was the moment she had been dreaming of for months. He was real; this was not just another dream.

Scabior trailed kissed across her brow and down her cheekbones as Hermione trembled in his arms. His lips finally met hers, and she gasped against his mouth. He was so real, so solid in her arms. He kissed the soft velvety spot just beneath her ear, and she buried her face is his tousled hair, breathing in his musky, spicy scent. He moaned into the hollow of her throat, and she clasped him closer. His lips met hers again, and then bare skin was touching bare skin. The moonlit forest swirled around them, and then nothing else existed but them.

The next morning at breakfast, Hermione was exhausted, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. Ginny was the only one who seemed to notice the change.

"Where _were_ you last night?" she hissed when Ron's and Harry's attentions where elsewhere. "I woke up at four o'clock in the morning and looked over and you weren't in your bed, and then you still weren't there when I got up…" Ginny's face lit up as realization dawned. "Wait… were you with a _guy?_" she hissed. "Beauxbatons or Durmstrang? Or Hogwarts? Who is he? Or she… How did you meet? Did you meet at the dance? Oh, _tell me_!"

Hermione grinned to herself.

"It's a long story."

**The End**


End file.
